


What You Wish For

by theimprobable1



Series: What You Wish For [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, Sexuality Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimprobable1/pseuds/theimprobable1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin is straight, but also desperately lonely. When a likeable young man asks him out, he says yes, and then has to deal with the consequences.</p><p>An edited and expanded version of the second fill for <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/1249.html?thread=1722337">this prompt.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by [](http://chess-ka.livejournal.com/profile)[**chess_ka**](http://chess-ka.livejournal.com/) \- thank you!

“Well, well, well, isn’t that a surprise,” Douglas drawled, leaning against the flight deck doorframe.

“What?” Martin snapped, turning towards him. He was feeling a little shaken and he certainly didn’t want to face Douglas’ clever remarks. He still hadn’t wrapped his mind around what had just happened.

They had been flying tourists from a small Fitton-based travel agency around the Mediterranean, and on several occasions Martin had found himself talking to a man called James Langley. When they landed back in Fitton, James had lingered behind the other passengers, and when Martin emerged from the flight deck, he had asked him out for dinner. Martin had been dumbstruck for a moment, and then awkwardly accepted, feeling a little dazed.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Douglas said, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“Well you can’t know everything, can you?” Martin said. He didn’t want to talk about this with Douglas. He wanted to go home and think by himself about it and decide how he felt about going out with a man.

“Perhaps not,” Douglas allowed reluctantly. “I do, however, _notice_ everything. Like your behaviour towards First Officer Linda, or that curvy Ryanair stewardess, or Katherine from the coffee shop, and the lack of such behaviour towards anyone of the male persuasion, including Mr Langley.”

“Her name is Cathleen,” Martin corrected him.

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “So out of all I’ve just said, the only thing you decide to comment on is the name of one of the _women_. I must conclude that you’re not trying very hard to disprove my point.”

“Your point?”

“That you are, in fact, straight.”

“For God’s sake, Douglas! So someone asked me out! You could’ve, I don’t know, _wished me luck_ , but no, of course you have to go and mock me! I didn’t think you were homophobic.”

“Come on, Martin. You know very well that I have no problem with men dating other men, as long as they’re both partial to the male form. Which, I think we’ve established, is not your case. I’m not mocking you; I’m merely trying to find out why you accepted an invitation to dinner _from a man_.”

“It’s none of your business,” Martin said, and turned to leave.

“Martin --”

“Stop it! You don’t understand, all right? You can’t. You have women falling all over themselves to be with you, but no one ever gives me a second look! If I’m lucky they think, _aw, isn’t he adorably awkward,_ but mostly they just think I’m pathetic, so if there’s someone interested in me I’m not going to waste my opportunity.”

He stalked out of the plane, ignoring whatever Douglas was calling after him. He didn’t need Douglas to point out all the ways in which this was wrong. He didn’t want to… lead James on or something like that, but agreeing with one date wasn’t so bad, was it? People often went to first dates without knowing whether they and the other person would fit together, and it didn’t mean they were leading them on. And this wasn’t much different, was it? Sometimes people fell in love with someone of the same sex even if they’d considered themselves straight before. It wasn’t unheard of. Perhaps it would happen to him.

James was nice, after all. He was in his late thirties, a vet, clever and polite and easy to talk to. And he asked Martin out. Nobody asked Martin out, or accepted when he asked them out. Could he really be blamed for saying yes, for feeling flattered and pleased and grateful?

It probably wouldn’t last past the first date, anyway. James would find out that Martin wasn’t someone he wanted to waste his time with, and that would be it. Probably. And if not, if James still liked him after spending a few hours in his company… maybe Martin would come to like him too. Gender didn’t matter. It shouldn’t. It was just the shape of the body, nothing more, really. What mattered was the personality.

Right?

*

Martin didn’t want a breathtaking romance. He just wanted companionship, someone to cook for and watch telly with, someone to wish him a good flight and be there when he came back and maybe, perhaps, occasionally, be a little proud of him. Or just not consider him completely useless. That was all he wished for, really. He had lost hope it would happen long ago, but now it seemed that he could have a tiny chance. Of course, it only made sense that the only person to show any interest in Martin was a man – he just wasn’t lucky enough for it to be a woman. It was a miracle that he found a human being at all. He wasn’t going to be picky. He wasn’t going to complain.

He and James Langley were sitting in an Italian restaurant that was well out of Martin’s price range. James let Martin talk about MJN and he actually seemed interested and asked all kinds of questions. It was good. It was like being out with a friend. Martin could do this.

“You know, I thought flying a plane would be a bit repetitive,” James said, “but the way you speak about it, it sounds like the most exciting job in the world.”

“Because _it is!_ ” Martin said emphatically, and then immediately checked himself and continued in a calmer tone. “I mean, there are obviously drawbacks, like the fact that we always have to stay in the worst hotel available, but it’s… there just isn’t anything like flying.”

“Did you know that your face just lights up when you speak about it?” James said with a small smile. “It suits you.”

“Oh,” Martin said and his eyes darted away. The flirting wasn’t like being out with a friend, of course. It was nice, in a way, but Martin didn’t really know how to react to it. “I, um. Thank you.”

“It’s great when you love your job, isn’t it? I can’t imagine what it’s like for people who go to work every day just because they need the money.”

Martin hesitated. “I sort of have another job that I do just for the money,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he said it. But James should know it, shouldn’t he, in case he was just hoping to date a rich airline captain. Which would be the only logical reason for him to be interested in Martin. “Carolyn doesn’t pay me.”

James’ eyebrows rose. “You mean you work for her for free?”

“Yes. I… MJN is in debt all the time and Carolyn can’t afford… and I really love being a pilot and I couldn’t find a position anywhere else, so…”

There. He'd said it, and it would effectively solve his problem about dating a man, because James was going to find exactly how pathetic Martin was. It would be probably for the best. Martin didn’t even know how dating and relationships worked; he’d just make a hash of it anyway.

James was silent for a while and then said, “I think that’s impressive.”

Martin blinked. “Impressive?”

“Well, yes. Not everyone would have that kind of dedication. Carolyn must be glad to have you.”

Martin doubted that was the case, but he didn’t say that aloud because at that moment James reached across the table and placed his hand on Martin’s. That wasn’t like being out with a friend, either.

Martin looked at James’ broad, tanned hand on his, and all he could think about was how long it had been since the last time someone had touched him affectionately. He couldn’t even remember. It was nice, the warmth of James’ hand seeping through Martin’s skin, the way his thumb stroked across Martin’s wrist like it was something precious and delicate.

Martin looked up and smiled, hoping that it looked natural.

*

When he came home, his phone chimed with a text from James, thanking him for a lovely evening. Martin stared at the text, pleased that he’d managed to make someone’s evening lovely but unsure how to reply. In the end he wrote back that he’d had a good time too, which was true – his other option was sitting in his cramped attic room and listening to the students having a party.

He had just had a successful first date. There was no reason why he should feel so wretched. James had given him a peck on the cheek when they parted, which hadn’t been unpleasant, and he hadn’t tried anything more – clearly he wasn’t one for rushing things. That was good. It would give Martin time to get used to it. Maybe he’d even have grown attracted to James by the time they… did anything.

If James didn’t tire of him first, which was still a possibility.

They had plenty in common. They both liked spy novels and crime thrillers and going for walks. James’ parents hadn’t been best pleased with his chosen career path and James wasn’t very close to his family, just like Martin. (Though James was much more successful in his field than Martin, so his parents probably didn’t begrudge him the money he spent on university fees any more.) They understood each other’s sense of humour. James was interested in hearing anything Martin had to say about planes and Martin liked animals well enough. It was really all he could wish for in a… partner. He thought that, if James didn’t lose interest, he could make it work. He was going to try his best.

*

The following morning he walked past the coffee shop where Cathleen worked. He didn’t go in, as he couldn’t afford to spend money on coffee right now, but he saw her through the window, chatting with a customer. She never really talked to Martin – why would she, he was just a babbling idiot who couldn’t order an espresso without making a fool of himself. She was probably seeing someone, anyway.

And so was Martin, now.  
*  
“How was Sir’s date?” was the first thing Douglas said when he arrived at the airfield – late, as usual.

“Great. Great. Just great.” Martin said without looking at him.

“And you repeated it three times just for emphasis, of course.”

“Wow, Skip, you had a date?” Arthur exclaimed enthusiastically. “Who with? Was it a passenger? Was it the girl with the glasses? The one I spilled wine on? Is she still angry?”

“It was a _male_ passenger,” Douglas supplied helpfully.

“Ooh, wow! So now you have a boyfriend! That’s brilliant, Skip! All the best people have boyfriends!”

“Do they now?” Douglas drawled.

“Yes! Like Sherlock Holmes!”

“Sherlock Holmes didn’t have a boyfriend,” Douglas said.

“Haven’t you read the books, Douglas?” Arthur asked, eyes wide with shock. “Doctor Watson! The one with the moustache!”

Grateful, Martin let Arthur distract Douglas, though he doubted he would be distracted for long. At least Arthur was supportive. Obviously he didn’t see anything wrong with it, because there _wasn’t_ anything wrong with it. Or at least there wouldn’t be, once Martin got used it. And then everything would be just fine.

*

They were in the park playing frisbee with James’ dog, a golden retriever called Lancelot. His endless enthusiasm and seeming inability to tire out strongly reminded Martin of Arthur, and James obviously loved him. It was fun. Martin certainly didn’t regret agreeing on another date. He didn’t.

When they sat down on a bench to rest, Lancelot settled beside Martin.

“See?” James said. “He likes you. I’ve always known that he has perfect taste.”

Martin started scratching Lancelot behind the ears in order to have something to do with his hands.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” he said awkwardly.

“Yeah, it’s great, you come home and there’s always someone delighted to see you waiting for you. Possibly with a ruined pair of shoes or a sofa that needs re-stuffing.”

Martin chuckled. “My landlady doesn’t allow dogs. I thought I could maybe get a goldfish, but I’m often gone for days at a time, and the students would probably let it starve.”

“I have goldfish,” James said. “Three. You could come and have a look at them sometime.”

Martin smiled nervously, and a part of him wondered if “come and look at my goldfish” was some sort of gay code.

James leaned against the backrest and stretched his arm on it behind Martin’s back, not quite touching him. His fingers brushed Martin’s upper arm lightly, as if asking permission.

Lancelot nudged Martin’s hand impatiently when he stopped scratching him, and Martin felt a sudden wave of understanding for the dog. He wanted to be petted, too, to feel someone’s touch, to feel liked. He leaned into James’ hand slightly.

James’ reaction was almost immediate: he put his arm around Martin’s shoulders properly and pulled him a little closer, and when Martin looked at him he was _beaming._ It seemed incredible that Martin’s tiny, almost involuntary movement could make him smile like that. Martin looked at him and he had to think about what Douglas had said to him earlier: _“Imagine that you’re dating a beautiful woman that you’re completely besotted with, and then one day you find out that she’s a lesbian and she’s only with you for some misguided reason, and every time you kiss her she imagines kissing her female neighbour. How would that make you feel?”_

James was so kind to him; he didn’t deserve…

“I need to tell you something,” Martin blurted.

James’ smile faded, and he turned to face Martin. “Yes?”

“I… I’m not…” Martin began shakily and bowed his head, unable to look in James’s soft brown eyes. “I’ve never… been with another man before,” he said finally, aware that it didn’t really cover the whole truth. “And I don’t… have much experience with… anything. I don’t want you to be… disappointed.”

James was silent and still for a moment, and then he placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“Martin, it’s all right,” he said soothingly.

“Is it?” Martin squeaked.

“Of course. Look, you’re not… signing up for anything. We’ll take things slowly, and see if it works. The only thing that matters is whether you want to try.”

Martin looked up at James’ open, kind face. Maybe he could say that he’d prefer to be just friends… _But he’s the only person who wants you_ , a tiny voice in his head said. _You’ll be alone forever if you chase him away. Douglas doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he doesn’t know what it’s like, the loneliness._

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I—I want to try.”

James smiled at him, a wide, pleased smile. He moved his hand to Martin’s face, fingertips brushing the hair on his temple.

“Good,” he breathed, and Martin saw his eyes flicker to his lips. He held his breath. James moved in slowly, giving Martin plenty of time to pull away, but he didn’t, he forced himself not to, and then James kissed him, just a short, soft press of lips.

“All right?” James asked gently.

Martin nodded. The kiss hadn’t been unpleasant. It had felt nice enough, really. Affectionate. Martin would learn to enjoy kissing James in no time. It would be just a matter of habit.

Lancelot lay down at Martin’s feet.

5.

The only girl Martin had ever kissed was Lucy Evans when they were both sixteen. Martin hadn’t particularly liked her; they spent time together mostly because they were both outcasts, infinitely more likely to be bullied than invited to parties. Martin found that kissing James felt better than kissing Lucy had. At least James didn’t try to choke him with his tongue. And Martin didn’t know what actually enjoying kissing really felt like. Maybe this was it.

If Martin was honest with himself, though, he had to admit that he wasn’t sexually attracted to James. He simply wasn’t, no matter how hard he tried to be. He wanted to have sex with James about as much as he wanted to have sex with Carolyn. But perhaps there were other kinds of attraction that were just as important. He certainly liked being close to James. He liked hugs. And cuddling, too. He wasn’t sure if he liked it because of James, or if he would have liked it from anyone who was willing to bestow it. He couldn’t deny that a large part of why he liked James was simple gratitude. Nobody had ever treated him the way James did. He knew Douglas and Carolyn liked him, though it was very hard to detect under all the sarcasm, and of course Arthur liked him the same way he liked everyone, but James treated him like he was someone special and irreplaceable. Like he mattered. Martin couldn’t _not_ be grateful for that.

That wasn’t all, of course – James was just a very likeable person, and except for, the part where Martin wasn’t gay, they were very compatible. (Possibly also except for the part where James insisted on keeping a pet snake in his living room. Martin hadn’t entirely made up his mind on how he felt about that.) Martin grew very fond of him as time passed.

He stopped listening to whatever Douglas had to say on the subject (with three failed marriages, he could hardly be considered a relationship expert, after all), and after a while Douglas stopped offering unwanted advice.

Martin hoped that what he felt for James was good enough for now. The rest would come later. Surely he had to have _some_ bisexual tendencies. Didn’t everyone? He was certain he had read an article to that effect. It was just a matter of uncovering them.

James certainly kept his word about taking things slowly; he never pushed and never seemed angry or disappointed when Martin pulled away. Martin was very grateful for that – it gave him enough time to get used to James, to find that his touches and kisses could be arousing if Martin managed to empty his mind and focus only on the physical sensations. Sometimes he thought about flying, but that was better than thinking about women, right? He was confident that James wouldn’t suspect anything when the time came for them to have sex. And the fact that it didn’t seem very appealing now didn’t mean that he wouldn’t enjoy it when it finally happened.

It wasn’t a big deception, overall, was it? It was just a tiny little one. Barely there. Martin liked James and wanted to make him happy. He was sure that many long-lasting relationships stood on a shakier ground than that.

And then after a while, it stopped seeming very important. After a month with James, Martin felt happier than he could ever remember being, at least for a longer period of time. They went hiking together, talked, watched films on James’ sofa, laughed, and all the while James never hesitated to make it obvious that he liked Martin, that he liked him a lot, which was such an unprecedented experience for Martin that he couldn’t _not_ like James back even if he tried. Martin used to hate landing in Fitton, because that meant nothing but his lonely attic room and van jobs and money troubles, but now he looked forward to it, to seeing James – someone who missed him and someone whom _he_ missed.

*

“Can I?” James asked breathlessly, resting his hand on Martin’s belt buckle.

Martin nodded. He had been expecting this, and he had taken a fortifying shot of vodka before he went to James’ house. He couldn’t keep delaying it for much longer, and it was probably better to get it over with and see if he could do it on a regular basis.

James made a low, guttural sound. He fumbled with Martin’s belt and zip, and pushed his hand down Martin’s trousers. Martin’s breath hitched. It was so strange, to feel a warm hand that wasn’t his touching his cock. Martin closed his eyes as James stroked him through the cotton of his pants, gratified when he felt himself hardening.

“You’re gorgeous,” James whispered into his ear. “Utterly gorgeous.”

Martin was momentarily thrown off by how untrue that was – he wasn’t strictly speaking ugly, but he knew that he also couldn’t be considered handsome by a long shot – and then he felt so stupidly _pleased_ that James liked him enough not to notice that his freckles and thin face and weird eyes weren’t _gorgeous._ The slight panic he felt seemed to fade next to the sudden determination to try his best to make this as enjoyable as possible for James, because he deserved it, he deserved everything. It was easier than he predicted, going through the motions that he knew were expected of him, when he did it for someone who cared about him.

It was better than masturbating, if nothing else, Martin thought distractedly when James took him in his mouth. He tried to focus on the wet heat his cock was enveloped in, the delicious suction, the flicks of tongue, forcing everything else out of his mind.

He came with what must have been a truly ridiculous and undignified sound, and the next thing he knew was James smiling at him like Martin was the best thing in the world.

Martin was half proud and relieved that they were halfway through and he was doing fine, half worried about what was yet to come. Did James expect him to return the favour in the same manner? He wasn’t sure if he could do that. He’d try, of course, if it was what James wanted, but he’d rather avoid it for now.

“I’m… should I…” he stammered, but James kissed him before he could get completely tangled up in what he didn’t know how to say.

“Shh,” James whispered and kissed him softly again, slowly guiding Martin’s hand to his cock. It felt hot and heavy and alien in Martin’s hand, but he made sure not to flinch or tense. This was James, he reminded himself as his hand stroked up and down the shaft, guided by the light touch of James’ fingers. James who listened to him talking about landing in Malmö with a tailwind like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard, who thought he was gorgeous and not at all pathetic, who gave him everything Martin had been craving for so long… and who shouted Martin’s name when he came.

Martin contemplated the slightly revolting sight of another man’s sperm on his fingers, and he thought that it was worth it. It was an infinitely small price to pay for what he got, companionship and support and affection and everything else that he couldn’t name.

He just really needed a shower.

“All right?” James asked when he cleaned Martin’s fingers with some tissues. “You look a bit… shaken.”

“I’m fine.”

“You did…” James hesitated, a small wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “You did like it, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Martin said, a little surprised at the extent to which it wasn’t a lie.

He kissed the wrinkle away.

*

James’ closest friends were a married couple called Patrick and Anna. Martin first met them when James invited them for a barbecue. James seemed very keen to introduce Martin to them, and Martin just hoped he wouldn’t make a complete fool of himself.

When James and Patrick were busy with the grill and Martin and Anna were left alone at the rickety table in the garden, Anna said to him quietly, “I hope you know how lucky you are.”

For a brief moment Martin didn’t know what she was talking about, but it became clear as soon as he caught her fond gaze directed at James.

“Yes,” he said, and he meant it. It wasn’t like he’d imagined it, it wasn’t a nice girl and a house and children, but it was luck nevertheless. Happiness, even. “I do.”

Anna smiled at him. “He was very alone for a long time, you know. We were a bit worried about him, Patrick and I.”

Martin looked at James, carefully arranging courgette slices on the grill and laughing at something with Patrick. James was a very approachable and friendly person, cheerful and easy to talk to. Martin couldn’t think of a reason why someone like him should be alone. It must have been James’ own choice, then. Martin wondered why, and what it was about him that had made James change his mind.

“He has a big heart, James does,” Anna continued, “but he doesn’t let many people in it, and…” She hesitated, as though considering what to say next. “Just don’t hurt him, okay?”

“I won’t,” Martin promised, and he intended to keep it. For some strange reason James had chosen him, a constantly nervous, stammering, ~~straight~~ wannabe pilot, he gave Martin what had been missing in his life before, and the least Martin could do was try and make sure it was worth it.

After good food and stories about James’, Patrick’s and Anna’s school years, Patrick and Anna left. Martin and James gathered the dishes from the garden table and retreated inside.

“Anna said you… were alone for a long time before… before me,” Martin began tentatively when they’d finished drying the dishes.

James glanced at him.

“I bet she made it sound like I was desperately lonely for years and years,” he chuckled, then shrugged. “I was a bit obsessed with my work, I suppose, and then I…” He threw the dish-towel over the back of a chair, eyeing Martin thoughtfully. He leaned against the table and pulled Martin close to him, so that Martin was standing between his legs. Martin noted absent-mindedly that somehow this position had stopped being awkward.

“When I was very young,” James said softly, “there was someone I loved very much. But he… Well, let’s say it didn’t work out. And I sort of wasn’t… interested in anything serious after that, so I only had short, casual relationships, and after a while it started to seem… pointless, and boring.” He shrugged again, playing with the hair at Martin’s nape. “I was fine on my own, and I didn’t see a point in changing things… unless I met someone special.” He smiled at Martin, a gentle, affectionate smile that almost took Martin’s breath away. “And I have,” he whispered.

Martin’s heart was beating very fast. “Me,” he said stupidly, voice absurdly high-pitched.

“Of course,” James breathed, and after a moment his soft smile was replaced by a tiny frown, as if he was worried that he’d said too much too soon. A sudden wave of deep affection for James washed over Martin and, before he knew what he was doing, he cupped James’ head in his hands and kissed him. He couldn’t describe what he was feeling at that moment – it was so utterly unlike anything else he’d ever known. It was as if something that had been bottled up inside him suddenly spilled and poured out of him.

“Come to bed,” he whispered when they broke apart. It felt so strange to say that, and he wasn’t sure that it was sex he wanted. He just wanted to be close, as close as possible to this wonderful, wonderful person who made his life better and gave him everything Martin had longed for.

James gave him a surprised, pleased smile, and Martin realised that this was the first time he’d ever initiated anything more than a cuddle. That was going to change – James mustn’t have a reason to doubt Martin’s feelings for him. Martin may have doubted them himself, but they were clear to him now: it didn’t matter that James was a man. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming affection that bloomed inside Martin’s chest and that was so much stronger than any amount of sexual attraction he could ever feel.

That night was the first time Martin let James take him, and it was almost enough, almost exactly what he craved: closeness, connection, unity. James moved inside him and Martin gripped his hand tightly, and he never wanted to let go.

Maybe this is what being in love is like, he thought absently when James cleaned them both up and curled behind him. Martin brought James’ hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, and he felt James smile against the back of his neck.

“You’re very… affectionate today,” James murmured.

“I’m sorry if I… wasn’t, before,” Martin said, turning to face him. “I know I’m not very good at this relationship thing, but I…”

“Shh,” James whispered, kissing him briefly. “I know it’s all new for you. And you’re doing great, really.”

James had flaws and bad days like anyone else, Martin knew – he’d witnessed them – but to him, at that moment, James was just so utterly perfect that it didn’t seem possible. He burrowed closer to James’ chest, and went to sleep feeling calm and peaceful and so very _relieved_ that he was able to feel this way.

*

“What is this ridiculous thing?” Douglas asked when he entered the portacabin, pointing at the porcelain figurine Martin was holding. “Is it Arthur’s? Where is he, anyway? And Carolyn?”

“They went out for lunch,” Martin said. They were on stand-by, which meant that Douglas thought it was acceptable to come to work at midday. “You’re _four hours_ late. I think this might be a record.”

“I’m going to make a new one tomorrow,” Douglas said. “What did I miss, apart from your new inclination to play with toys?”

“It’s not a toy,” Martin huffed. “It’s a decorative… thing.”

“A decorative _thing,_ of course, how stupid of me not to realise. Who wouldn’t want to decorate their living room with a stupidly grinning porcelain dog sitting in an aeroplane.”

“It’s a gift,” Martin said reluctantly. “For James. It’s our anniversary today. Six months.”

Douglas raised his eyebrows. “So you’re still keeping the pretence up, then?” He asked, even though he had known. “I must say, I’m impressed. I didn’t think your conscience would let you lie to him for more than a month.”

“I’m not lying to him.”

“Aren’t you? Have you jumped the fence, then? You haven’t made a very good job of it, though, given the way you looked at Mrs White’s legs yesterday.” Martin tried not to blush. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Mrs White had very nice long legs and Martin was allowed to look just as much Douglas was. “Or are you playing for both teams now?”

“I’m not playing for any teams, all right?” Martin hissed. “James is very kind to me. I like him.”

“Ooh, that explains it, of course. He’s kind and you like him. I’m sure that really heats things up in the bedroom.”

“Douglas, why do you do this? I thought you were over it now.” Douglas had been mostly quiet about Martin’s love life, and Martin had hoped it would stay like that.

“And I though _you_ would get over it. I’m sorry, Martin, but you can’t like him very much if you keep deceiving him like this.”

“I’m not…”

“You’re a straight man in relationship with a gay man who doesn’t know the truth. Sounds like deception to me.”

“You don’t understand. And it’s none of your business, but if you must know…”

“Do you know why my first marriage didn’t work out?” Douglas said in a low voice, and something flickered in his eyes. “My wife decided that she didn’t want to be in denial about her homosexuality any longer. Trust me, I understand perfectly.”

Martin blinked at him, not knowing what to say.

“Douglas, that’s… I’m really sorry.”

Douglas waved his hand. “It was more than twenty years ago, it doesn’t matter now. It wasn’t exactly the best time of my life, though. You should consider the pain he’s going to be in when he finds out, which he will, rather than buying stupid gifts.”

Martin shook his head. “This is different. I’m not in denial about anything. I know I prefer women, but I also know that there’s an exception to every rule. He’s my exception. I didn’t feel like that at the beginning, sure, but I don’t want anyone else now.”

Douglas wasn’t convinced, but it was all true, Martin thought even as he walked towards James’ house five hours later. It was why he bought the figurine – it was a dog piloting a plane, long ears and a blue scarf flapping behind him. It did look a bit ridiculous, but Martin thought it represented them somehow, the two of them joined in a way that didn’t seem possible at first. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. If Cathleen from the coffee shop suddenly decided that she was head over heels in love with him, Martin wouldn’t be even tempted.

When he rang the bell at James’ house, nobody answered, apart from Lancelot barking at the other side of the door. Martin frowned, and pulled out the keys that James had given him and that he hadn’t had to use until now. He answered Lancelot’s enthusiastic greeting only with a short pat on his head.

“James?” he called. No answer. He entered the darkened living room, and when he switched the light on, he saw James sitting on the sofa, shoulders hunched.

“James! What’s going on? Why are you…” Martin stopped abruptly. James was pale and his eyes were red-rimmed. Martin suddenly felt like his stomach had disappeared.

“Bad news about your mother?” Martin whispered.

James shook his head, and when he looked up at Martin there was something in his eyes that almost broke Martin’s heart.

“I wanted to surprise you today,” he said hoarsely. “Take you out for lunch. You were busy having a conversation with your friend when I came, though. I couldn’t help… overhearing.”

Martin dropped his bag and he could swear that all the air suddenly disappeared from the room.

They looked at each other for a while. James’ eyes were endlessly sad, and a voice in Martin’s head chanted _what have I done what have I done what have I done._

“James,” he said, his voice croaky, and he didn’t know what he wanted to say, what he _could_ say. It’s not the way it seems. I never meant to hurt you. Let me explain. Don’t leave me.

“I’m such an idiot,” James said, looking away from him. “The signs were all there, but I didn’t notice. I thought you were just shy, just insecure, when all this time you had to force yourself to touch me.”

“No,” Martin breathed. “No, James, please, it wasn’t like that, I wasn’t –“ He fell on his knees next to where James was sitting, but James stood up abruptly before Martin could touch him.

“Did you think it was _easy_ for me?” James asked in a gradually rising voice. “Always having to coax a response out of you, always having to make the first step, the second, the third, for weeks, months! And I thought you just needed me to do that until you felt secure enough and I didn’t _see_ —“ He fell silent for a moment, breathing raggedly, and Martin desperately wanted to tell him how much James’ slow, careful approach had meant to him, that it was really only thanks to that, thanks to the unreserved displays of affection that Martin had been able to let himself trust James, but he couldn’t find the words to express it.

“Was it very hard?” James snarled. “Did I disgust you? What did you have to do to bring yourself to fuck me?”

“James, please, let me explain,” Martin said shakily. He was hyperventilating and he couldn’t think, this was never supposed to happen and he didn’t know what to do. “It’s not like that, I swear, I love you!”

James’ jaw hardened.

“Don’t you understand, Martin?” he snarled. It was a low, dangerous sound; Martin had never heard James sound like that. “It’s over now, the game is up! No point in lying to me now.”

“It’s not a lie,” Martin said weakly.

James turned away from him, facing the glass enclosure where Cleopatra the king snake was lying motionless. Martin had been terrified of her at the beginning, but he’d come to like the feel of her skin eventually. So many things had turned out differently than he had expected, and now it was all ruined.

“Fine,” James said after a moment, still facing Cleopatra rather than Martin. “Explain, then. Why did you do it? Why?”

Martin was silent. Still on his knees, he watched James breathing unevenly and he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make things even worse.

“I was… I was so lonely,” he said finally, staring at the carpet. “I’d never had… anyone, and then you came and I just wanted not to be alone all the time.”

“That really makes me feel so much better,” James said in a hollow voice, “knowing I was your last resort.”

“But it isn’t like that anymore, James. I promise you, if I could have anyone in the world, I’d want you. You must believe me.”

“Believe you,” James echoed. “How am I supposed to believe you, when the last six months were a lie? I don’t know what it’s like when you’re being sincere.”

“Like this. It’s like this,” Martin said. “The last six months were the best of my life. They _weren’t_ a lie. Surely you must _know_ that. I was… conflicted, and guilty, and sometimes things were… difficult, but I _liked_ being with you from the start. I never lied about that. I wasn’t attracted to you, I admit that, but surely that can’t be so important, it can’t be, because I fell in love with you anyway.”

“And now?”

“What?”

“You said you –- weren’t attracted to me. So I’m asking, are you now? When we made love yesterday, did it mean anything to you, besides a sacrifice you had to make to keep me? Tell me the truth.”

Martin opened his mouth, and then closed it again when no ready answer was forthcoming.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, struggling to find words that would adequately describe what he felt. James had asked for the truth. “I mean – obviously I do know if it meant something, and it did, of course it did, it always does, but I don’t know if – I can’t differentiate…” He paused, taking a deep, calming breath. “I want to give you everything, including sex. And I do enjoy it, I do, and I like undressing you and b-bringing you to orgasm …” – one day Martin would hopefully be able to talk about sex like an adult, without blushing – “and I love being close to you, but I’m not sure if it means I’m attracted to you. Maybe it’s just because I love you.”

He fell silent, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted James to understand, and forgive him, and for things to be all right again so they could cuddle on the sofa. He didn’t want the curve of James’ shoulders to be so tense.

Finally, James turned and looked at him, his face unreadable. He sighed, walking towards Martin, and sat back down on the sofa.

“I know I’m nothing special, looks-wise,” he said, “but I was kind of hoping that at least my own boyfriend would find me desirable.”

“But I do,” Martin said, and he hated the English language for not having unambiguous words for what he felt. “Maybe it’s not as – sexual as it is for other people, the – the desire. But I love looking at you, and sometimes, when I look at you, you just… take my breath away.”

Martin reached out hesitantly to touch James’ hand, and he let out a relieved breath when James didn’t recoil. Instead, his other hand came up to brush against Martin’s knuckles, and Martin felt a desperate flicker of hope.

“So you… you do like having sex with me,” James said slowly.

“Yes.” Martin loved the closeness, the fact that it was him and only him that James wanted. It wasn’t an all-consuming passion, but it was still amazing. That had to mean something, surely?

“But you’re still straight.”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” He hadn’t really thought about it like that. Somehow being with James had stopped being his only option and became the only thing he wanted. He hadn’t questioned it: he’d been glad. “Does it really matter so much? I want _you_.”

James sighed again, rubbing his forehead, and his eyes fell on the bag that Martin had dropped on the floor. The gift box had fallen out.

“What’s that?” James asked, obviously desperate for something else to talk about for a while.

“Oh. That’s a – gift, for you,” Martin said, a little thrown off by the fact that such mundane things as anniversary gifts still existed. He reached for the box and handed it to James. “I wasn’t sure if… if you’re supposed to give gifts after six months, Arthur said I should but Arthur of course thinks gifts are brilliant no matter what, and then I saw this and… bought it on whim, really.”

James opened the box and took the figurine out. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“I thought… the dog is you and the plane is me, you see,” Martin said quickly, “and the plane can’t fly unless the dog is piloting it, and the dog can’t fly unless he has the plane, so they can only…”

“Fly together,” James finished, his finger tracing the curve of the tiny plane’s wing.

“Yes,” Martin said. “I know it’s silly, you don’t have to keep it and I… I’m sorry,” he blurted, suddenly realising that he hadn’t said it yet. “For everything. I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” James said in a low voice. “Could you… could you perhaps go and make me a cup of tea? I think… I need a while to wrap my head around this whole thing.”

“Of course,” Martin whispered and got up. He looked at James slouched on the sofa, turning the figurine in his fingers, and he knew beyond any doubt that he could never want anyone more. Could James understand what Martin himself barely understood? Maybe it was too much. Maybe he’d hurt James too much. Maybe James was going to ask him to leave.

Martin went into the kitchen, and when he took out the mugs his hands were shaking.

He took his time making the tea, trying to calm himself with the familiar routine. It would be all right. James had always been very understanding and supportive, that wasn’t going to change now. They would talk it out some more, maybe, and then everything would be fine. Better than before, because Martin would have nothing to hide.

Except maybe not. Even James’ understanding had to have its limits. James had his own expectations and hopes and wishes, and maybe Martin couldn’t fulfil them now.

He sighed, picked up the two mugs of tea and went back to the living room. He would do whatever James asked of him; he owed him that much.

James was still on the sofa, stroking Lancelot’s head contemplatively. He looked up when Martin entered.

“Thanks,” James murmured as he took one cup from Martin, wrapping his hands around it. Martin sat down next to him, unsure about what to do.

“I love you too,” James said, looking at his tea. “In case you were wondering.”

Martin hadn’t been – James had never said the words, but he’d always been very demonstrative. It had been the most important factor in why Martin had fallen in love – knowing that James loved him and wasn’t afraid to show it.

“When we first talked,” James continued, “when we were delayed in Marseilles, do you remember? I just kept thinking, _here you are, where have you been all this time, I’ve been waiting for you._ And I knew I had to get to know you better. After we’d gone out a few times, I thought… I thought you didn’t know how to show it, but that you felt the same, at least to some extent, and now… I don’t know what to do.”

“N-nothing,” Martin stuttered. “Nothing changes, really, I…”

“Nothing changes for you,” James said. “You’ve always known. But I… I don’t know if I can do this.” He buried his fingers in his hair. “You’ve never been with a woman,” he said dully.

“No,” Martin agreed, unsure about where James was heading with this. “But I want only you now, I promise, I…”

“I believe you, I think,” James said, and swallowed audibly. “But what about a month from now? A year? What if you find you’ve been… denying your true nature? Because of me? What then?”

 _I won’t_ , Martin wanted to say. He couldn’t imagine that he could ever find the idea of sex with a woman (in the unlikely case that a woman could want him) more tempting than the security of James’ love, but he had no proof. Only time would tell, and he couldn’t ask James to live in constant doubt, could he?

He reached out to touch James’ arm. James turned towards him, and instantly they were wrapped in an embrace, holding on to each other.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Martin whispered, breathing in the comforting scent of James’ neck. He held him tighter, and they stayed like that for a while, rocking slightly. Martin never wanted to let go, he wanted stay in James’ arms forever and nothing to shake the certainty he felt now that this was where he belonged.

James pulled away slightly. “How about a threesome?” he asked slowly.

“Threesome,” Martin repeated. Just the word filled him with a vague sense of dread.

James nodded. “With a woman,” he clarified. “Just once, you know, or a couple of times, so that you could… be sure. About what you want.”

“I don’t know…” Martin didn’t like the idea of a stranger intruding on their intimacy.

“We don’t have to decide now,” James said. “I’m not exactly ecstatic about it either, but I like it better than… the alternative.” He took a deep breath. “I want to stay with you, and you say you want to stay with me, but I need you to be sure. And I think we should work this out together. ”

“Yes,” Martin said, pulling James closer again. They had a chance. If they both try, they must have a chance. He was going to do whatever James needed him to do. “Together.”

 

*

Denise was a friend of James’. More of an acquaintance, really. A friend of a friend. They had met a couple of times before tonight, and it had been decidedly awkward in Martin’s opinion.

Denise had a warm smile and large eyes, full breasts and an ample bottom. Quite Martin’s type, really. She was a very good kisser, too, and the softness of her breasts pressing against Martin’s chest was certainly not unwelcome. He even lifted a hand to cup one breast in it, feeling the hard nipple through the fabric of her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and a certain part of Martin’s anatomy found that very interesting.

Except.

He didn’t really know this woman. He knew she was a hotel receptionist, liked joking, horror movies and really strong coffee, but that was about it. He didn’t care about her, and he knew she didn’t care about him. She had given him looks Martin had seen on countless women – she thought that he was awkward in a mildly amusing way, but she didn’t find him attractive or good company or anything. Martin didn’t really understand why she was doing this. Unless she liked James, but she was pressed against Martin’s front, exploring his mouth with her tongue, while James was pressed against Martin’s back, busy kissing the left side of his neck, and the two of them had barely touched each other.

It all felt like some strange kind of business transaction, even though no one was paying anybody. What was the point of getting naked with a stranger in an unfamiliar room? Martin had agreed to do this because of James, he’d been determined to do anything that would alleviate his doubts, but it just felt so _wrong_. He didn’t know Denise well enough, he didn’t trust her enough and he felt nothing for her, and not even the clever movements of her tongue could override that. Besides, James was kissing Martin’s neck in an undeniably wrong way. Martin knew how James kissed when he was relaxed, and this wasn’t it. His whole body was tense against Martin’s – he didn’t like this any more than Martin did, probably even less, so why were they doing this when neither of them wanted to?

Martin pushed Denise away.

“What is it?” she asked softly, in a good approximation of a caring lover, but an approximation nevertheless. Martin knew what a caring lover was like – he had one of his own.

“I – I’m sorry,” he said, more to James than to Denise. “I can’t do this. I really… Sorry.”

He picked up his jacket from the floor and made his way out of the bedroom, out of Denise’s flat, eager to be somewhere else. He stopped by the lift and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply.

He just didn’t like kissing someone who wasn’t the person he loved. He didn’t like doing things that made James uncomfortable. He couldn’t have brought himself to continue. He would have to find out a different way to convince James, this just…

“Martin?” James had emerged from Denise’s flat too, and he was looking at Martin questioningly.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said again. “I get why you wanted to do this, I do, but I… I don’t want her touching me, or anyone else who isn’t you, I didn’t like it and I’m sorry if it’s…”

He couldn’t continue, because at that moment James’ mouth sealed over his, kissing away all memory of Denise’s lips. The difference between the two kisses was staggering: the difference between an attractive woman and the man he was in love with. _This_ was what kissing was meant to feel like, this was right, the press of James’ lips that weren’t really gentle now but somehow still managed to convey a sense of deep affection, the intensely familiar smell of his skin, the feel of his silky hair between Martin’s fingers, his steadying touch on Martin’s back. Just the two of them and nobody else.

“Thank God,” James whispered when they broke apart, and began dropping soft, tiny kisses all over Martin’s face. “Thank God.”

“You… you’re not angry?”

“No.” James pulled away slightly without letting go of Martin, his eyes shining. “I know I… I know it was me who suggested this, and I really thought it was a good idea. I just wanted you to… make an informed decision, or… be sure about what you wanted, but… I hated it, Martin, you can’t imagine… I kept thinking that you’d just forget I was even there and… it was awful.”

“I’m sorry --”

“No, no,” James beamed at him, thumb gently stroking Martin’s jaw. “ _I_ am sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested it, it was stupid. I think I should just trust you that you know what you feel instead of inventing stupid tests that we both hate.”

“Yes,” Martin said. “I do know what I feel.” There were very few things in his life he was equally certain about.

James’s smile grew even wider, and he planted a kiss on Martin’s forehead.

“Let’s go home,” he murmured.

And so they did.


End file.
